


Same time tomorrow

by singtome



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:37:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4303437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singtome/pseuds/singtome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leave it down to the sheer fact that he really is caught off guard, how with Sora glaring subtle enticement at him, Riku's only thought is, “His hair is even worse up close.” </p><p>(Or: Not-even-friends with benefits.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same time tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest how this got to 8k is beyond me, as I only started writing this to get over a bump with another fic. But, hey, it is what it is, so enjoy!  
> Also: Unbetaed.  
> I'd like to dedicate this fic to my neighbour's dog.

 

 

 

Riku knows Sora's routine by heart, and he hates it almost as much as he hates Sora himself.

As it stands: 4 p.m. After school but not directly, he shows up on Riku's front porch with a facade of innocence which seems to fool everyone well enough. It fools his father, and Riku has learnt to transform the mixture of irritation and fevered suspense into pleasant apathy at the snap of a finger when the man calls “Riku, your friend is here!” down from the living room. They are normally throwing insults at each other when Sora saunters up to his room two minutes later, shuts the door and leans against it, cool and casual aura ever yet in place, and it curls Riku's skin.

By 4:09 Sora's jacket is abandoned over Riku's desk chair, while Riku's pants are thrown somewhere into a forgotten corner of the room and they proceed to _hate_ at each other until around 6 p.m. Sora is usually gone before Riku wakes up.

At school they pretend the other doesn't exist, and the cycle repeats.

Occasionally on an off day, Riku will wake up to silently watch Sora slip into his jeans, spine articulating as he bends, seated at the foot of Riku's bed, allowing perfect sight of sharp shoulder blades and patched, tanned flesh Riku always has to work extra hard to mark. One, two, three vertebra poke gently from under stretched skin at the end of his spine, surrounded by a collection of sharp red lines disappearing under clothing.

After he shrugs his shirt back on, always something black and always, always, something profane, Riku pipes up, taking pleasure in the fact that he can watch his ass saunter over to retrieve the jacket when they are both too euphorias to give a damn.

“So.” He drawls, legs stretching out, bones filled with that post coital relaxation and calm. “Same time tomorrow?”

Sora always snorts indignantly, shrugs on his jacket – shirt lifting up to reveal another proud bruise – and replies, “Nah.” and leaves.

He always comes back the next day.

 

 

If anyone asks, Riku doesn't remember how they began doing what they're doing. Not that anyone would ask, as Riku would rather eat his own arm than have people knowing that he spends nearly every afternoon rolling in the sheets with Sora-Fucking-Hikari. However, say if anyone were to ask, Riku would simply reply that these rendezvous melt in and among the sea of study, stress, and parties that is Senior Year.

The truth is far from that. The truth, stupid, fucking thing, is that Riku remembers exactly when and how this started, and it dates back to end of March, two months ago. Riku is sighing into his locker, enjoying the momentary silence of the empty hall before it would soon explode with a crescendo of teenaged clutter and a bell.

He might have chosen to ignore the creeping feeling of someone standing beside him, or he could have left it down to exhaustion that he just didn't notice. The semester had barely started and already Riku was counting the minutes until Summer. Nevertheless, both factors did not stop the embarrassing little jump he did after he shuts his locker and out appears a smirking imp in ripped jeans and a leather jacket.

 _Imp_ really might be too harsh off a word, Riku reasons, he really is only about a head shorter than he is, but that's what he looked like right then. Imp. Elf. Fairy. Nymph. Something you would find out of Mythology text book, all smirk and twinkling, hypnotic blue eyes Riku always thought looked to be traced in eyeliner but, wow. Not at all.

Sora leans against the neighbouring lockers with that specific kind of casual air where it looks as if he doesn't just belong in his surroundings, but owns it. Leave it down to the sheer fact that he really is caught off guard, how with Sora glaring subtle enticement at him, Riku's only thought is, “His hair is even worse up close.”

“Hey, legs.” Are the first words out of his mouth, it's forwardness causing a paradox in which it fills Riku with both laud _and_ self-conciousness.

The latter wins out, and what stumbles out of Riku's mouth while his mind is currently occupied with what-the-fuck, is, “Uhmm.”

Sora's smirk grows in width and mischievousness, and he tilts his head and gives Riku a scrutinising look.

“You're,” He drawls, “in my English class.”

Riku isn't sure whether that is a question or a statement but he answers, “Yes.” anyway. _You never shut up,_ He thinks.

“Riku, right?”

“Yeah.”

Sora nods, slowly, and Riku has to admit that this whole overly-comfortable gig is starting to grate on him.

“My brother says you're gay.”

If Riku were harbouring any water in his mouth at that current moment, it would be _all over_ Sora. He splutters over his own spit anyhow, and Sora raises an eyebrow at his steadily reddening completion.

“Are you?” Sora's expression and tone both read you-don't-have-to-lie-to-me-because-I-won't-believe-you-anyway and in the end, funny enough, is the only thing which stops Riku from telling him to fuck off.

Riku doesn't speak, yet Sora looks to have received his answer well enough.

“Lets hang out after school.” He announces before Riku can get a word in, and then the bell is ringing and the halls are filling with fellow antsy, perspiring teenagers. And Sora is gone.

After school he is still gone, and Riku settles their encounter down to a meaningless joke, coupled with the fact that he didn't give anything other information regarding “hanging out”, so he pushes it aside.

It isn't until Sora shows up on his doorstep at four o'clock that Riku remembers, small town.

 

 

The blissful, grating chatter of the 90s game show blaring into Riku's ears and glazing over his eyes is interrupted by the shrill chirp of his phone shouting for attention. He rips most but not all of his attention from the high saturated screen to lazily reach over, feeling around the soft cushion for the device. Spine stretching, Riku's fingertips trace over the cool metal finally, and he grasps tiredly and drags it over to his side. It's a slow day.

The screen lights up too bright and Riku instinctively shuts one eye. Navigating the lock screen and opening the message, the words _**you home?**_ fill a little green bubble.

Riku sighs, fingers itching as he replies _**Yes** _.

A minute later: _**alone?** _

Riku raises half an eyebrow. _**Yeah.**_

_**cool. i'm coming over. be naked when i get there.** _

Riku is most certainly not naked when Sora gets there, and he receives a mildly disappointed look for it.

 

 

“I don't like you.” Riku pants into Sora's ear.

“Awesome,” He hears a huff back, “I don't like you, either. Too _slow._ ”

Riku rolls his eyes and purposely slows his hips more, taking pleasure in Sora's immediate groan of frustration. Riku leans up. “Stop complaining.” He smirks.

Sora breathes deeply through his nose and huffs again, strands of hair floating up off his damp forehead. He glares at Riku, digging his nails into the skin at his neck sharply. Riku cries out in shock and sting, which Sora finds extremely amusing. Riku frowns, leans forward, arms bracing the mattress and snaps his hips forward once. _That_ most certainty shuts him up.

Sora makes a little noise of surprise Riku has never heard before, and honestly it's one of the better things to come out of his big mouth. It is short lived as Riku's hips return to their former pace, and Sora is hissing, “Jerk.”

“Baby.”

Sora groans loudly, throwing his head and arms back lazily on the bed. “Oh, my God, move, you fucking a- _ahhha_!”

Sora's hands shoot out either side of him, fingers clawing and curling in the sheets. Riku grins in triumph. “Better?”

“Hm-mmn.” He hums appreciatively, hiking his legs up higher along Riku's back. “Yeah, like that.”

Riku groans, feeling Sora's heels dig into his back, urging him to go harder. He grasps Sora's thighs and falls onto him, face buried into his neck, finds _that specific spot_ and bites down. Sora jolts and moans loudly, fingernails scraping the length of Riku's back in retaliation. He laps at Sora's neck, happy about the bright red mark he sees there, and works at leaving a trail of them all the way down to his shoulder.

Heavily breathing into his collar bone, Riku presses his fingers into the unusually soft skin at Sora's hips and thrusts forward sharply, Sora's loud, careless moans serving as musical accompaniment. His arms are shaking, hips jutting in a uneven rhythm, head beginning to spin.

“Ah, yes _yes_ , there.” With Sora's stuttered encouragements, Riku looses it, crying out sharply, eyes shut tight and cheek resting against the flushed, hot skin of Sora's chest, who gives a squeak and follows soon after.

 

 

“You know,” Sora does a little half jump-wiggle thing, pulling up his jeans, “you're pretty alright at that.”

Riku eyes him, vexing, and huffs a laugh. Sora glances back for a moment, eyes glistening and smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Really?” Riku says.

“Yeah.” Sora replies, simply. “Better than I thought, anyway.”

“Well, thanks.”

“Easy.” Sora warns, pulling on his shirt – Riku eyes his hips and is almost sad to see them disappear under the fabric. “I said “ _alright”._ Don't let the ego get to big.”

Riku rolls his eyes and reclines comfortably against the pillows. “Like you'd ever let me.”

Sora coughs a _Ha!_ “And that's what I'm good for.”

Riku grins, seeing the in. “And nothing else?” He cocks his head.

He counts Sora's offended look as a small point added to their figmental scoreboard.

“You think I don't have ears?” He says, shooting Riku a pointed look at his dishevelled appearance.

“I think you have less of them, than everyone else.” Riku drawls. “Seeing as you lack an” he air quotes, “inside voice.”

Sora raises a challenged eyebrow. “I didn't see you having any issues with my _lack of inside voice_ ten minutes ago.”

Riku sets his jaw, eyes narrowing with mirth. “That's because you were too caught up with me being “pretty alright”.”

Sora mirrors his expression, folds his arms indignantly. “Actually, I take it back. I've had better. Much.”

Riku winces and clutches at his heart, dramatically. “Why, you damage my fragile masculinity. How could you?” He sniffs.

Sora holds his glare, but Riku doesn't miss the small twitch of humour. “Fine.” Riku mock-sighs. “Guess I'll just have to work harder.”

Sora snickers and wags his eyebrows. “Good boy.”

Riku feels a twinge of annoyance in his chest, and for half a moment wants to tell Sora to “come back over here and I'll prove you wrong.” but he doesn't. He lets Sora leave.

 

 

“You ever considered getting a girlfriend, or something?” Tidus chides him one day. “ A relationship, maybe? Getting laid?”

Riku stares up at him. “What does this have to do with the French Revolution?”

Tidus heaves the mother of all exasperated sighs and jumps down off the bench, snapping Riku's textbook shut. Riku half expects him to rip off his glasses, too, while he's at it.

“You're 18.”

“Astounding.” Riku tugs his book back.

“ _And_ ,” Tidus leaps to pull the book out of reach, “Never. Not once! Not in the many, many years have I known you, have you ever had a girlfriend.”

Riku glares at him. “Or boyfriend.” Riku glares at him harder.

“Hey, man.” Tidus back pedals. “It's just an observation. I'm just worried that you're. You're missing out. Or something.” He squeaks awkwardly.

Riku sighs and stares down at his hands, willing his cheeks not to burn up and ruin everything.

“I'm not missing out on anything.”

Tidus gives him a look of pity. Riku thinks the text book would look real great between his –

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He hisses.

“But –”

“Tidus.”

“– Are you _sure,_ sure?” Sometimes Tidus reminds Riku of a whining toddler. This is one of those times.

Riku groans and makes another grab for his book, but Tidus clutches it to his chest. “But it's, like. Senior year.”

“Oh, my God.”

“You should be experiencing things!” If Riku's completion wasn't red before, he is sure it is now. “You –”

“Can you please stop?” Riku tires.

“Are you sure you don't want a relationship? It's really nice, I promise.” Tidus finishes with a sympathetic look.

Riku's had enough. He stands quickly and snatches his textbook back with a growl. Tidus takes a cautious step back.

“Okay, I'll take your damn word for it, alright?” He hisses. “Can you maybe shut up now? Why is this such a big deal to you?”

“Because I ...” Tidus hesitates, wringing his fingers. “I want you to get something outta High School, you know?” He finally admits. Riku closes his eyes. “What do _you_ want?”

Riku groans, “I want to survive this year with my sanity intact. I wanna know how Napoleon ended the French Revolution. I want –”

A familiar bark of laughter interrupts his sentence. Riku looks over to the opposite bleachers and sees a group huddled there, lounging lazily in the sun, all dressed in what his grandmother would describe as “distasteful street clothing”. He spots Sora with his head in the lap of someone who shares most of his facial features.

“I want ...” He keeps on, mouth moving on his own, and if Riku is honest he's forgotten what they were talking about.

Until he hears Tidus chide, “No!” Riku is lost to the world. He snaps his attention away from the group just in time to see Tidus's eyes widen.

“Stay off the drugs.”

“What?” Riku blinks at his friend, stupidly.

Tidus leans forward and grips his shoulders. “You are better than that, Riku.” At that moment he reminds Riku of one of those “philosophical” mothers who always tell you to chase your dreams, as long as they aim toward a high income and a nice apartment with one or two planter pots.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

Tidus shoots him a pointed glare and twitches his neck strangely to the side. “Them.”

Riku knows what Tidus is going on about, and refuses to look back over at Sora. “No.”

“No?” His friend repeats, relieved.

Riku shakes his head. “What have I told you about listening to rumours?”

“What have I told you about where rumours come from?” Tidus says.

Turning away and piking up his bag, Riku answers, “People who have nothing better to do with their lives.”

“Nooo.” Tidus enunciates. “Some version of the truth.”

Riku puts his glasses away and swings his bag over his shoulder. “Some _one's_ version.”

“Whatever.”

He realizes that he's checking his watch when Tidus asks, “You gotta be somewhere?”

Riku's eyes betray him by moving over to the bleachers, like magnets. Sora is now sitting upright, arms tucked casually behind his head, and is talking to a guy decked out head to toe in black, his sandy-blond hair gelled to the max. Sora is laughing still, but quieter, more privet, seemingly at ease with the other not so subtly sliding closer on the bench.

Riku tears his eyes away. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. See you tomorrow.” He barely waits for Tidus to chirp out his surprised goodbye before walking away.

 

 

Riku's phone goes off half way home. He unlocks it without looking and reads the message, _**don't think i didn't notice you staring ;)**_

Riku fucks him harder than usual that afternoon. He doesn't know why, he just feels like he needs to. Sora seems appreciative enough.

 

 

“Are you a virgin?”

Riku stands awkwardly in his bedroom, not quite knowing what to do with himself. He had batted off their encounter in the hall as a fluke and hadn't actually expected Sora to show up, not at his house anyway. Riku stares.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you a virgin?” Sora repeats, slower and with amusement.

“Why?” Riku frowns.

“Curious.” Sora shrugs. “Are you?”

Riku plants his feet. “No.”

Sora walks toward him until they are standing no more than a foot apart. “Is that a lie?” Sora raises his palms, almost coming back to himself, and says. “Not judging. And you totally don't have to answer that.”

“Good.” Riku frowns harder. _What a dickhead._

Sora's eyes search his for something, what, Riku does not know, but he looks like he finds it one way or another.

“So.” Sora begins, finally. “Do you wanna have sex?”

Riku nearly chokes on air. “ _What?_ ” He manages.

Sora's eyes mock him. “Do. You. Wa –”

“I heard you.” Riku hisses. Then, “Why?” And he most certainly doesn't ask “why me?”.

Sora shrugs carelessly. “I don't know. Bored. You're hot. It's March.”

Riku feels his face redden, pulse quickening, feeling stupidly flattered over the off-hand “you're hot” comment. Sora stands before him patiently. It's not like Sora isn't attractive. Quite the opposite, actually. Way, _way_ the opposite. Clear, tanned skin and pink cheeks. Leave aside the wild hair, there are wide, but not broad, shoulders, long, slim legs and a small waist that Riku could slip his arms around and pull close, and those legs could –

 _Oh_ , wow. Okay.

“Uhmm.” Riku stutters, trying to regain at least some control over his stupid, teenage body, and Sora, not at all helping, steps closer so that their faces are an inch apart, deep blue eyes boring enticingly into his and Riku can't deny how this afternoon is going to go now.

“You –” He whispers, rakes his finger through his hair, and breathes. Sora's grin grows steadily. “You have to be out of here in an hour.”

“Yeah, you won't last that long.”

With one quick shove Riku's knees hit the bed and he is falling onto his back with a small cry. Sora disposes his jacket over the back of Riku's desk chair and crawls onto him like a cat, movements teasingly slow, already working at the buttons of Riku's shirt. Riku stares at him intently, eyes unable to look away, hypnotised, and does his best not to freak out, his heart beating wildly like a bird in a cage far to small. Sora's fingers trace softly against his skin, tickling, finally freeing the last button.

He pauses, eyes trained on Riku's torso, and looking pleasantly surprised. “Wow.” He says. “You're _really_ hot.”

Riku lets out a shaky breath, deep flush settling in for the long haul. “You – _Ah!_ ”

Sora's palm presses hard over Riku's crotch at the exact same moment he decides to sink his teeth into the flesh at his hip. He feels rather than hears Sora snicker, lips and tongue replacing teeth almost sweetly, hand moving up rhythmically as Riku fights to control his breathing. He braves a look down to see Sora expertly unbuckle his pants and slip a hand in, and Riku nearly jumps out of his skin.

Riku feels warm, soft fingers wrap around his erection and hisses, gripping the sheets as an anchor. Sora trails kisses along his lower abdomen teasingly, all the while stroking without mercy, uncaring about Riku just hanging on under him. Sora tugs his pants down firmly, the cool air hitting Riku's hot and sensitive skin.

“ _Ah._ Shit!” Where soft fingers once were are replaced by softer and warmer lips, as Sora sinks down on to him effortlessly, lips and tongue lapping sinfully, perfect, and Riku presses his mouth closed to keep what would be an extremely embarrassing keen down. He manages to last all of eighteen seconds before he is stuttering and coming hard, breathing atrocious.

Sora resurfaces, wiping at his mouth and choking back laughter. Riku spares one look at him, and Sora snorts loudly before exploding into a fit of giggles.

“Going. Going down on virgins is always entertaining.” He manages.

Riku groans, very, _very_ self-concious, and collapses back onto the mattress, muttering, “God, I hate you.”

Later when his limbs have de-liquefied Riku figures he should probably return the favour. Sora guides his hand where it needs to be, says, “You know how to do _that_ , right?”

He lasts a bit longer than Riku did, with more dignity to walk away with, but when Riku is burnt with the image of Sora coming into his hand, perfect red mouth fallen open so, so terribly, he decides that, yep. He _really_ hates him.

 

 

He's learnt all of Sora's moans the same way he has learnt the lyrics to his favourite song. Riku knows exactly where to touch, where to kiss, where to apply pressure and where not to, to make him writhe and gasp and arch up off the bed. He gets severely impatient, fast, and lets Riku know about it, whether it be in the form of vocal objections or simply flipping Riku on his back and taking over. Sora is never not loud, always making one sound or another, always talking or laughing. If something isn't working for him he will say so, and same thing goes if something is working _very well._

They've never kissed. Not once. Not ever on the lips, after all these weeks. Riku attempted it once, one afternoon. Something different: Riku had ripped Sora's clothes off almost immediately after his bedroom door was shut and the lock pushed in. He felt weird, he saw Sora and Hair Jell earlier, standing far too close to look friendly, an unpleasant feeing settling in his stomach. He tells himself he isn't jealous, that he and Sora aren't together like that, anyway, and picks him up and fucks him hard and deep against the wall.

It's difficult at first and the angle isn't the best to work with, but Sora hitches himself up, wraps his legs tighter around Riku's waist, and thrusts his hips downward, Riku feels him shudder and choke out a moan, Sora's head falling onto his shoulder. The feeling of holding him tight, limbs wrapped, and Sora's hair tickles his neck and jaw while his lips stretch into an elated grin against his skin, something stirs awake in Riku's chest and before he know what he is doing he is gently nosing at Sora's cheek. He plants a soft kiss against his neck, his jaw, then moves closer.

He's so close, and he is trying to kiss him, but then Sora jerks oddly and turns his head away. He lets Riku finish with his head resting on his shoulder, staring toward the other end of the room. Riku lets him down promptly afterwards, limbs shaky and weak, and heart stammering.

Sora pretends like nothing happened, quickly dressing and chattering on about nothing while Riku sits down on his bed, silent. He leaves with the usual smile, but Riku can hear the “Please don't try and do that again” loud and clear.

 

 

Part of their unspoken deal is that they never acknowledge each other or what they're doing outside the four walls of Riku's bedroom. Until one day, Sora, fucking Sora, decides to turn all that upside down. They're in English, Riku falling asleep to the teacher's mindless blather, when a single familiar, annoying voice asks to use the bathroom. Riku keeps his head down when Sora brushes past his desk and exits the room.

He is less lucky when he returns five minutes later. The rest of the room is either asleep or tapping at their phones in utter boredom, so no one notices Sora take something out of his pocket and drop it into Riku's lap.

Riku frowns, still avoiding eye contact, and waits until he hears Sora settle back into his seat to investigate. He reaches under the table, fingers tracing over denim until finally reaching something light and cotton, something explicitly familiar, and all the blood would have rushed to his face if it didn't fall in the opposite direction.

He suffers through lunch with a burning pocket and horribly tight pants, and not until after the bell for final period rings does he seek out Sora and drag him into an empty classroom.

“Are you serious?” Riku whispers harshly, pushing Sora against a wall.

Sora keeps burning burning eye contact, eyes glistening, and shrugs, “Dunno.”

Riku groans, honestly kind of feels like sobbing. “You are insane.”

Sora giggles. “Little bit.”

“Do you have a sex addiction, or something?”

Sora huffs, and drags his fingertips teasingly down Riku's back. “You'd love that.” He mouths at his neck, turns his head and nibbles at his earlobe. Riku feels his knees turn to jelly. “Also, you look sexy in glasses, by the way.”

Riku groans and shoves a hand down Sora's pants.

 

 

He shouldn't like him, really, really shouldn't. He should like the sex, the distraction, the stress relief, the god damn secrecy of the whole thing making it that much hotter.

Riku should not like the way Sora's voice sounds when he's moaning, how the afternoon light looks on his skin, how it reflects off the thin sheen of sweat over his body, how it makes him _glow_. How red his lips are, how blue his eyes, his smile, hearing him laugh and giggle, how soft and fucking perfect he feels.

He shouldn't _like_ him.

 

 

“Hey, so, um.” Riku blurts out before Sora has the time to swing his legs out of his bed. Sora stops and looks back at him, eyebrow arching in question, eyes surprisingly alert.

“Uh ...”

“Yeah?”

Riku's brain screams at him to _shut up shut up shut up you fucking moron, holy crap_ but his mouth doesn't seem to get the memo. “You, um. I. Your … friend?”

Sora squints at him. “My friend?”

Riku sighs, tells himself this is going to end badly, and carries on. “Uhh, I've seen you hanging out sometimes. The blond … one?” His voice sounds so awkward even to himself, good God.

Sora stares at him for a moment, then finally, “Tall? Dressed in black?”

Riku nods.

Sora does something he never has – he stays. Swivels around in bed to face Riku, knees up and elbows resting comfortably, bed sheet loosely wrapped around his hips. “Yeah, Prompto. What about him?”

Riku hesitates, and it that moment Sora's expression changes, and he just knows this is all about to go to Hell.

“Wait, no.” Sora raises a finger. “Lemme guess. You want to know if I'm sleeping with him as well.” Sora's tone has changed, and he sounds pissed off.

Riku stutters, hopelessly trying to back pedal. Sora doesn't let him. “I've noticed, okay? I'm not blind. Am I currently sleeping with him? No. Have I ever? Yes. Happy?”

Riku gapes at him hopelessly and thinks, _no, not really._ “Sora, I. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have –”

“No, you shouldn't have.” Sora turns away and jumps out of the bed. Keeping the sheet tight around his waist, Riku has to scramble for the blanket on the floor. “I have to go.”

“Sora, wait –” Riku reaches out, ends up grasping at air when Sora yanks his arm away.

Sora speedily picks up his pants and shirt, then stops, and sighs. “I don't bounce from guy to guy, okay? I'm not a complete slut.” He says that last part quieter, almost like he is talking to himself.

Riku's insides crumble. “No, look, I never meant that.”

“But you've thought it, huh?” Sora finally turns around to face Riku, cracking resolve littering his bright blue eyes. “It's crossed your mind? It's crossed everyone else's.”

Riku sighs, chest constricting painfully. “Sora –”

“See you later.” With that Sora grabs his jacket and leaves, bed sheet and all.

 

 

“Hey, man … are you okay?” Tidus's voice breaks through Riku's tired, jumbled brain, but only just.

He blinks up, hands toying with whatever is left of his napkin. He stares at Tidus as if just noticing he were there. “What?”

Tidus gives him a look of pity. “It's just. You've seemed … down lately.” His tone is slow and deliberate, and for a moment it looks to Riku like his friend is waiting for him to confess an actus reus.

Riku eyes him down, “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Tidus shuffles in his seat. “You can talk to me.”

“About what?” Riku's fists clench, voice raising an octave without his approval. It turns the heads of a few students at nearby tables, their eyebrows immediately rising, and whispering. Riku takes a deep breath.

“About what?” He repeats. Tidus's look of pity intensifies.

“Listen. I wasn't going to tell you, but it might be better, er. Coming from me?”

The whispers of his classmates is berating and it's sending him closer to the edge. “Tidus if you don't get to the fucking point soon, I swear to God –”

“There's a rumour,” Tidus cuts him off, pointedly, “People are saying that. That they saw Sora Hikari leaving your house yesterday.” Tidus speaks stiffly. Riku's blood turns to ice. “And that he wasn't, um, dressed properly.”

Riku stares at him, through him, back at him, and then down to the table and his untouched sandwich. His mouth is dry, unpleasantness settling deep in his stomach, and it's dizzying. “Really?” He manages to croak out.

“Yeah. And that isn't not the first time? That they've seen him leaving your place.”

Riku's flicks his nails. _Small town_. “And what are they saying about that?”

“Riku ...” _Pity, pity, pity_. “He has a reputation. People aren't implying you guys are studying and playing video games.”

Riku feels weak. Spots cloud his vision. “Why haven't I heard about this before today?” He can't meet Tidus's eyes.

 _Pity._ “You don't listen to rumours.”

Well, of course.

He takes another breath but it comes out shaky.

“Riku. Hey, look. It's okay. I don't care about what other people say. I mean, of all people, him? I'd think you'd have better taste then that.” He tries to laugh but it comes out wrong.

Riku closes his eyes. He feels his friend's eyes boring into him, waiting for a response.

Tidus gets, “Well, you know what they say about rumours. That they come from some form of the truth.”

Riku slides his chair out, it's legs screeching loudly against the linoleum, and leaves the cafeteria.

 

 

Sora corners Riku around the side of the school. He clutches the strap of his back pack like an anchor. “What do you want?” The entire conversation with Tidus has left him touchy and nauseated.

Sora frowns at him, confused. “Are you mad at me, or something? Because I think we have this backwards.”

Riku scoffs out a laugh. “No, _no._ Why would I be mad at you?”

Sora's shoulders stiffen and he folds his arms, guarded. “You look like you've had a bad day, I get it.”

“I've had a bad couple _months_ , Sora.” He hates how his name tastes on his tongue, sweet like caramel. It makes him feel even more sick.

“What do you want, Riku?”

Riku sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. Sora follows it with his eyes. “You know what I want, okay? Go out with me.”

The reaction is immediate – Sora's eyes, shoulders and arms drop, and he utters a single, “No.”

“Why?” Silence. Riku waits for a response that never comes. “Okay.” He nods. “So you'll fuck me and pretend I don't exist afterwards, and that's it? So, what?” Riku throws his arms out, if he weren't so blind and ill with anger he wouldn't have missed Sora flinch in response. “Distraction, stress reliever, plain old _fun?_ So you don't have to think for an hour?”

Sora finally looks up at him, face stony. “Don't talk like you know me.”

“Yeah! I don't. That's the problem. You don't stick around long enough afterwards! I'm not allowed to kiss you, I can't ask you out on a date, you won't even let me talk to you!” The distinct sound of a pigeon taking flight echoes around the alcove they stand in, coupled with Riku's wavering instability.

Sora's expression changes then – stone cold anger shifts and _drops_ , and he just looks so small, like a defenceless animal. Riku despises what it does to his chest.

“Why.” He stutters, “Why do you need to?”

Riku's eyes flutter shut. “Why do I need to? Why –” Deep breath. He opens his eyes, latching onto Sora's, and for a moment he thinks he can see something. Something real. “Because you can't just appear in my life like this, and we can't just – You can't expect me not to feel something.”

And then it leaves, Sora's eyes cloud over and he retreats, face stony again, and _No, don't do that. Come back to me._

“I'm so sorry, Riku, I should have ended this ages ago.”

Riku gapes at him, “Excuse me?”

“I wasn't fair to lead you on like that.”

Riku continues to stare, and stare, and stare. He sees a small mark almost concealed by Sora's jacket, and “Okay.” He says, finally. “Okay. So you can't sleep with other guys if you're with me. Good. You can now.” He steps back. “Congratulations.”

Riku casts one pathetic look back at the alcove when he reaches the front gate, sees Sora still standing there, staring at the ground.

 

 

It takes a whole two weeks before Riku stops hearing whispers about him and Sora, or maybe he just plugs his ears. He sees him in English class only, sometimes by his locker, in the halls, but they carelessly ignore each other. Back to normal. Except there is no normal, Riku thinks.

Back to nothing.

By day Riku is filled with spite and apathy, by night he stares at textbooks, their contents meaning nothing to him, and lays in bed wishing he didn't miss him, wishing he could just hate him.

 

 

“I left some lasagne in the fridge.”

“Yeah, dad.” Riku sighs, tossing clothes into one pile or another. Stress cleaning, again. “I know. I saw. I smelt.”

His dad casts him a curious look before raising both palms. “Okay, alright. What's with you?”

Riku throws a shirt down harder than necessary. “Nothing.” He shrugs.

The man leans against the door looking unconvinced. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing you wanna talk about?”

Riku folds a pair of jeans and slams them into a drawer, all the while making a mental note to chill the fuck out. “Nope.”

“Okay, well, there's stuff I wanna talk about. You're mood and attitude lately, for one, but how'a'bout we start with the underwear I found under your bed.”

Riku freezes, hands reaching for more clothes clutches at air. He hears his dad hum behind him, and Riku has a brief vision of Sora stamping from his bedroom in just a bed sheet, most of his clothes, but likely not all, in his arms.

“Crap.” He chides to himself. Unable to turn and look his father in the eye, Riku begins, lowly, “Dad, I can explain ...” before realising that he really, _really_ can't.

He hears his dad sigh and chances a look back. “It's okay. You're not a child anymore and you can make your own decisions, I just wish you would have told me you have a boyf –”

“I don't.” Riku cuts him off before he has a chance to finish that sentence. “I don't.” He repeats, turning back away, and wishing he didn't sound so sad.

“Oh ...” He can hear the puzzle pieces connecting in his dad's tone, as the man takes in this information and aligns it with the mood swings. He folds a shirt. “Kid, I'm sorry.”

“I really don't wanna talk about it.” Pants, shirt, shirt, underwear.

The pile of his bed is considerably less mountainous before his dad finally announces he is leaving, from down in the kitchen. Riku yells back his approval. Pants, underwear, shirt, shirt, pants, shirt –

That does not belong to him.

Riku pauses and stares mildly shocked at the black fabric, logo of a band Riku has never heard of. He feels pathetic when he runs his hand over it, fingers feeling the soft, worn cotton, replaying a memory of peeling it of a lithe body.

Sighing, palms prickling, Riku throws the t-shirt somewhere to the side in the vague direction of his school bag, making a mental note to jam it into Sora's locker somehow.

He hears the front door open but is too distracted to notice that it hasn't closed, and that his dad is speaking softly to someone before calling up, “Riku! Your friend is here.” And he freezes. For a while, mind plagued with what-the-fuck-do-I-do and wondering if he can get away by swan diving out the window. His motor neurons kick back into action when he hears an impatient, “ _Riku._ ” and scrambles to the door with much dignity left to the imagination.

And Sora is standing there in the hallway, with that stupid hair and fucking jacket, and beautiful eyes and, God, Riku nearly misses a step.

His father is practically jumping from foot to foot nervously. He grabs his briefcase and says, “Alright, I'm running a little late so sorry to be rude.” To Sora, who immediately shakes his head humbly. Riku nearly chokes.

This is the part where his dad would normally say, “Make yourself at home” and crack a joke or two, but apparently not. He looks Sora up and down, then Riku, then Sora again, and back, and Riku thinks that he looks like the very personification of Exasperated and Deeply Concerned Parent. He stares Riku down, eyes shooting an army of “Just be safe, please, for the love of all that is holy” and runs out the door.

And they are alone. In Riku's living room.

And Sora is saying, “Hi.”

And Riku is saying, “Hey.”

And silence.

It is thick and awkward and for a moment Riku considers jamming Sora's T-shirt into his mouth and pushing the boy out the door. It would be easier that way, truly, because even after everything Riku still feels this magnetic aura surrounding the two of them. He wants nothing but to close the gap between them with a few strides and take Sora and pull him close and –

“What do you want?”

Sora lets out a deep breath that Riku, and he, apparently, didn't know he was holding.

“Um.” Sora mutters, scratching at his scalp. Riku sends him a glance of impatience. “I, uh. I came here ...”

“Yes?”

Sora sighs, sadly. “I don't know why.”

Riku nods. “Cool.” and begins to walk away. “You can continue not knowing outside.”

“Riku ...” He begins climbing the stairs. Sora's voice sounds panicked. “Riku, wait, please!” He reaches the stop landing, and pauses. Below he can hear Sora's feet padding against the floor as he runs up the stairs, and stops right behind him.

Riku grips the handrail, and when he speaks his voice sounds tired. “What do you _want_ , Sora?” He hears Tidus in his head, _What do you want?_

_I want._

Sora is at least one or two steps below him, because he can hear him breathing. “I want ...” His voice is so small, and Riku feels his anger evaporate an inch. “I want to stop feeling so miserable, 'cos that's pretty much all I've been feeling for the last couple weeks. I – I also want to apologise to. To you about ...” He clears his throat. “About everything.” _Sniff._ Riku grips the handrail tighter.

“I, ah, I shouldn't have come here. Like, ever. I am so sorry, Riku.”

He feels him turning to leave and Riku spins and reaches out and catches him before he can run. “Sora, just –” Sora looks up at Riku in shock, eyes watery. He looks pale and exhausted and just as run dry as Riku feels.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Sora asks the hand holding his sleeve. He watches as the knuckles unclench, and fingers wrap softly around his wrist.

“Why are you so scared?” Riku stares down at their hands. His pinky slowly reaches out, traces over Sora's weather beaten knuckles, and wraps it around his.

Sora's breathing is slow and careful. “I'm not scared.”

Riku takes one step down, closer. “Don't lie to me, okay? You are terrified.” He says. Sora's breathing becomes heavier. Riku silently braces himself for Sora to pull his hand away and run out the door, and he will never see him ever again. “I just need to know. Please?”

Sora huffs once through his nose, and finally meets Riku's eyes, and he sees a wonderland of emotions. “Why? Because kisses lead to intimacy. Intimacy leads to relationships. And I just fuck all those up, okay!”

Riku's entire world goes numb, and he feels frozen. Sora snaps his hand away, but he doesn't leave, takes one shaky breath, two, three, and pushes past Riku to the top landing and leans against the wall.

“It's just lying, hurting and bruises. Bruises, hurting and lying. Over and over again. And I hate it, and I can't take it.” He glares at Riku, who climbs the rest of the stairs. He sounds so broken. “But then you –” He wakes a hand, “You come along, and I'm ...”

Riku walks forward, slow and cautious, watching Sora's eyes cloud over, cheeks flushed red. “And I'm such a fucking mess. I just want you, all the time. And not just sex, I want ...” He takes the final few steps until he is standing right in front of Sora. A Sora he has never seen before, who is standing here baring his soul.

“I want …” Sora's voice is a barely a whisper, staring back into Riku's eyes with so much intensity it makes him dizzy, lids fluttering closed as Riku's hands reach out to rest gently on his waist. He feels strings tugging at his arms, his legs, his hair, his body – pulling him to Sora. Sora is still whispering “I want” against his lips, hands fisting in Riku's shirt, grip tight, and he kisses him back, and Riku's entire self cries _finally finally finally._

He tastes like fruit, and it completely throws Riku off balance – he guessed chocolate. Sora whimpers and sighs into his mouth, tightening his grip and sliding his arms around Riku's shoulders, who in turn moves even closer until their bodies are flush against each other in a tantalising embrace. Longing and confusion and uncertainty all circle each other in Riku's stomach and chest, like a hurricane ready to break free.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, heart and lungs hammering. When Sora opens his eyes they are blown wide and lust filled, and Riku loses it.

“Fuck,” He says. “I'm not making a mistake.”

Sora's breathing is languid, “Neither am I.”

He takes Sora's hand and pulls him down to hall to his bedroom, Sora following gladly. They don't stop, nor look at each other, until the door is closed, and Riku realises that he doesn't need to lock it.

They both freeze when Riku turns back around, his hand never making the short journey to the little latch. There is something oddly final about everything, but juxtaposed with something new, and the knowledge of that hangs in the air like a big, nervous elephant. Riku suddenly doesn't know what to do with himself, and it is like that first afternoon all over again, except this time when Sora smiles at him, enticing, and walks forward, his arms curl around Riku's waist and he rises on his toes to meet his lips. Riku kisses him back enthusiastically, hands roaming up his chest to his shoulders, and neck, and gently pushes his jacket off down his arms. Sora lets go long enough for Riku to peel it off and drape it off the back of his chair, and Sora's burst of laughter surprises them both.

Sora hums apologetically and rolls his hips forward, Riku groaning at the contact. He leaves Sora's lips, making sure that his lips drag, slow, feather light against Sora's skin to his neck, more familiar territory. Riku feels a pike of satisfaction when Sora's breath hitches, and he says, “You _love_ kissing.”

Riku sucks, nips, and licks at his neck, and catches himself thinking _I love you, you shit_ but decides it's best to tuck that away for a later date. Sora's fingers are fumbling with his belt, breathing suddenly more erratic then it was a minute ago, and as he is returning to that boy out in the hall, that beautifully soul bared boy, Riku realises he is still terrified.

Riku leans back to look at him, and Sora does the same, eyebrows slightly furrowed, a small little crease in the centre of his forehead. With a small smile Riku leans forward and kiss him there, while his thumbs rub little circles into his biceps.

They take off each other's clothes slowly, never breaking eye contact. Riku pulls Sora on to his lap, hands roaming the smooth skin of his lower back, kissing every inch of skin he can make contact with. Sora gives a little whine of impatience and grinds his hips down, Riku's heart beats speeds up when he feels how hard he is. He rolls his hips up once, kissing at his cheek, his jaw, his lips, Sora moaning softly.

“Alright, alright.” Riku breathes against his lips. They take their time, or, rather, Riku takes his time while Sora groans and moans and _writhes_ under him, hissing for him to “hurry up, please, fuck” and Riku grins, shaking his head against Sora's inner thigh. He marks the sensitive skin there, fuelled by Sora's loud gasps and groaning. Sora's cry when he finally takes him in his mouth makes him very, very glad the house is empty. He stretches him out, spurred on by Sora's hands in his hair, gasps and keens and little “ _please_ ”s and “ _yes_ ”s.

Riku could just come by looking at him – eyes near black with lust, skin flushed and hair a mess, and a red, bitten mouth drops wide when he finally slips inside, nothing but arching skin and sobs and begging. It is almost impossible to last at this point and it's with Sora trembling on his lap that he comes, limbs wrapped so tight around each other they will leave marks. Riku moans with every breath against Sora's skin, waiting to softly float on back down to earth.

They lie there in a tangle of liquefied limbs and bed linen, Sora pressing little kisses against Riku's shoulder and chest. He smirks, near delirious, and remarks, “Who loves kissing?”

Sora's teeth tickle his skin when he replies, “Shut up.”

 

 

“Favourite colour?”

Riku hums. “The _answer_ is green, but the real answer is yellow.”

“Huh.” Sora says, long fingers idly tapping a pattern against his stomach, and Riku half wonders if it is a piano medley. His hair rubs under Riku's jaw. “I can see that. You're very … yellowish … aura and crap.”

Riku snorts. “That makes no sense.”

Sora's fingers bump against his shoulder in what was probably supposed to be a slap. “Hey. I could barely even talk ten minutes ago, cherish this.” He says, and adds, “You ass.” as an after thought.

Riku feels his heart stutter while his ego waits on standby. “So ...” He murmurs, “It was good?”

Sora lifts his head to look at Riku, deep eyes rimmed with thick eyelashes, cloudy and. Something else. He smiles, wide. “Amazing.”

Loose tongued and hypnotised, Riku mumbles, “Blue.”

Sora's eyebrows knit. “What?”

“Favourite colour. Also. Er, blue." He clears his throat, too worn to blush. “Anyway, what's yours?”

Sora lays his head back down, comfortable. He answers, “Dark purple.” and is greatly offended when Riku laughs.

“Sorry, sorry!” Riku chuckles.

Sora rolls his eyes. “Yes, dark purple. And yes, specifically, before you ask. I like the beach but I don't like swimming all that much. I prefer watching the sunset over sunrise, and I actually don't like the taste of Paopu fruit.” Riku listens to Sora talk, their chests rising and falling in perfect sync.

It is dark when they stop talking, blathering on about everything and nothing, the street lights outside Riku's window serving as the only mood lighting as they take each other apart again and again. It is close to 10 p.m. when Sora groans into the pillow that he “really should get going”. Riku reaches over Sora's body to switch on the lamp, kissing at the soft skin between his shoulder blades, murmuring,

“I'll cut you some lasagne.”

Sora blows him one more time for good measure and _then_ begins to dress. Riku glares from the bed, watching Sora wiggle into his jeans and slip on a shirt. Not his own, Riku notices, and almost – _almost_ – drags his ass back.

Sora returns to steal a quick goodbye kiss, and Riku asks, “Same time tomorrow?”

By the looks of it he chokes on air, laughing buoyantly. Sora looks back up, eyes swimming with mirth, smile wide and mischievousness, replies, “Nah.”

 

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://singt0me.tumblr.com/) here :)


End file.
